that I don’t even realize that he totally interrupted Lisha in mid-sentence. But her shocked look and the death laser she shoots me make her unhappiness transparent.
“I once saw a little of Europe backpacking with my best friend from high school, but we weren’t brave enough to tackle Eastern Europe.” A simple but specific answer, calculated so that he’ll go back to his interview and stop talking to me. I stare directly at Billy in what I hope is a meaningful way. He knows his media training—he’s doing this on purpose. He can’t quite hide his smirk as he takes a sip of water. And the interview continues.
But by the time the hour-plus of our meal is up I have lost track of the number of times that Billy has caught my eye toshare a private smile or include me in the discussion. He never crossed the line of making me speak again, but his mannerisms made it clear that he was speaking to me as well. Not just for the reporter or the tape recorder. He is sharing his stories and his life with me. And I just don’t know what to make of that.
Lisha pays the bill on her corporate AmEx and appears satisfied with the interview. We maintain small talk as we exit the restaurant and approach the valet. Lisha sticks close to Billy’s side, leaning against him with each laugh. She’s just a schmoozer. I know she wouldn’t really make a pass at my client. Certainly not in front of me. But it’s still awkward to watch her nestle up to him for a friendly yet non–air kiss good-bye before she disappears into her huge Lexus sedan.
With Lisha’s departure and life back off-record, I can feel my shoulders relax. “That went great. Sorry Lisha can be such a… so… affectionate.” I laugh to show that I’m not jealous or anything absurd like that but am trying to sympathize with him.
“It’s no problem. She’s fine, really. It was an easy interview—it went well, right?”
The valet next pulls my car up. I drag myself from Billy’s company to deposit my heavy shoulder bag in the backseat. I feel Billy following me and am suddenly all a-tingly inside as my “good-bye” kiss takes over my imagination. And then,
wham
. My heel misses the curb and I can already feel my knees scraping the pavement when Billy’s arms wrap around my waist and pull me up against his body.
“Oh God. Sorry! I’m such a klutz.” I am seriously mortified by my stumble, and the fact that I can still feel the warmth ofBilly’s body pressed up against mine. He lowers me back to my feet slowly and I desperately find my footing. Granted, I’m no ballerina, but why am I so clumsy around this man? Well, it also doesn’t help, I suppose, that I am wearing shoes a size too big.
“What are you, a buck ten? It was no problem,” he says, smiling. And seemingly sincere. I haven’t seen 110 pounds since high school, so his offhand compliment thrills me to my toes. He ushers me into the front seat of my car and chivalrously shuts the door for me. He remains looking into my eyes through the driver’s side window until the valet distracts him. Billy glances back one more time, waves, and then heads toward his sleek navy Porsche. I still have this ridiculous grin on my face as I drive away.
All afternoon I can’t focus. I am seriously giddy thinking about Billy. Which is now, officially, not okay. At one point I was tempted to call or instant message Izzy about the butterflies in my stomach. But what would I say? How could I admit that I am insanely attracted to my new client? First of all, who isn’t? Every woman in America is in love with Billy Fox. But I’m the one spending all day working with him, and when I’m not actually with him, I’m thinking about him, planning his days. And, I’ll be honest, having the occasional fantasy.
But I can already anticipate Izzy’s response: “What about Jacob?” And what can I say except “I don’t know!” And I don’t. I mean, I love Jacob. I do. And it’s not like I want to have these
“I once saw a little of Europe backpacking with my best friend from high school, but we weren’t brave enough to tackle Eastern Europe.” A simple but specific answer, calculated so that he’ll go back to his interview and stop talking to me. I stare directly at Billy in what I hope is a meaningful way. He knows his media training—he’s doing this on purpose. He can’t quite hide his smirk as he takes a sip of water. And the interview continues.
But by the time the hour-plus of our meal is up I have lost track of the number of times that Billy has caught my eye toshare a private smile or include me in the discussion. He never crossed the line of making me speak again, but his mannerisms made it clear that he was speaking to me as well. Not just for the reporter or the tape recorder. He is sharing his stories and his life with me. And I just don’t know what to make of that.
Lisha pays the bill on her corporate AmEx and appears satisfied with the interview. We maintain small talk as we exit the restaurant and approach the valet. Lisha sticks close to Billy’s side, leaning against him with each laugh. She’s just a schmoozer. I know she wouldn’t really make a pass at my client. Certainly not in front of me. But it’s still awkward to watch her nestle up to him for a friendly yet non–air kiss good-bye before she disappears into her huge Lexus sedan.
With Lisha’s departure and life back off-record, I can feel my shoulders relax. “That went great. Sorry Lisha can be such a… so… affectionate.” I laugh to show that I’m not jealous or anything absurd like that but am trying to sympathize with him.
“It’s no problem. She’s fine, really. It was an easy interview—it went well, right?”
The valet next pulls my car up. I drag myself from Billy’s company to deposit my heavy shoulder bag in the backseat. I feel Billy following me and am suddenly all a-tingly inside as my “good-bye” kiss takes over my imagination. And then,
wham
. My heel misses the curb and I can already feel my knees scraping the pavement when Billy’s arms wrap around my waist and pull me up against his body.
“Oh God. Sorry! I’m such a klutz.” I am seriously mortified by my stumble, and the fact that I can still feel the warmth ofBilly’s body pressed up against mine. He lowers me back to my feet slowly and I desperately find my footing. Granted, I’m no ballerina, but why am I so clumsy around this man? Well, it also doesn’t help, I suppose, that I am wearing shoes a size too big.
“What are you, a buck ten? It was no problem,” he says, smiling. And seemingly sincere. I haven’t seen 110 pounds since high school, so his offhand compliment thrills me to my toes. He ushers me into the front seat of my car and chivalrously shuts the door for me. He remains looking into my eyes through the driver’s side window until the valet distracts him. Billy glances back one more time, waves, and then heads toward his sleek navy Porsche. I still have this ridiculous grin on my face as I drive away.
All afternoon I can’t focus. I am seriously giddy thinking about Billy. Which is now, officially, not okay. At one point I was tempted to call or instant message Izzy about the butterflies in my stomach. But what would I say? How could I admit that I am insanely attracted to my new client? First of all, who isn’t? Every woman in America is in love with Billy Fox. But I’m the one spending all day working with him, and when I’m not actually with him, I’m thinking about him, planning his days. And, I’ll be honest, having the occasional fantasy.
But I can already anticipate Izzy’s response: “What about Jacob?” And what can I say except “I don’t know!” And I don’t. I mean, I love Jacob. I do. And it’s not like I want to have these
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